


Birthday Marks

by kreiderrider



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, interesting uses of a high heel, submissive chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kreiderrider/pseuds/kreiderrider
Summary: Chris harbors a desire to let you take control. You decide to give him a birthday he won't forget.
Relationships: Chris Kreider/Reader
Kudos: 8





	Birthday Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea goes to Tumblr user @m00nlightdelights.

The look in his eyes made you wonder just how long he was going to last.

You had to admit: tied up was a good look on Chris.

The thing about you and Chris was that both of you loved to be submissive. Of the two of you, Chris was way more comfortable taking the other role, so he often did; it was a rare treat for him to have you climb on top of him and ride, and rarer still for you to take charge and call the shots. And you’d only once done what he really loved, what he confided a few months ago to you that he wanted: got rough with him.

Tonight, you thought you’d pull out all the stops for a birthday present he wouldn’t soon forget.

Which was why his wrists were tied to the bedposts and he was staring at you, in your skintight black vinyl and high heels, looking like he was trying to decide whether this was reality or not.

You smirked at him, all red lipstick and dark eyes, advancing on him, cognizant of the fact that he was already hard and you hadn’t even really touched him yet. Slowly, you crawled over him, letting his dick brush against the cool, smooth vinyl between your thighs, and took one earlobe in your teeth, dragging them along the skin. “You’re 28 today.”

He nodded.

“I’m going to give you twenty-eight presents,” you purred into his ear.

“Twenty-eight? What kind of…”

You pressed your lips to his jawline, grabbing his head and pushing him hard against you; when you pulled away, a perfect pair of red lip prints were left. “One.”

Licking your lips, not breaking eye contact, you moved to the other side of his face, but this time your lips landed just above his collarbone. You let your tongue wander the hollow above the bone for just a moment, and then sharply sucked the skin in between your teeth; he jumped, and let out a moan as your hands firmly held his shoulders. “Two.” A dark bruise blossomed where your lips had just been, ringed with a faint red tint from the remainder of your lipstick.

You could _see_ him go weak.

You reached for his left hand, bringing it up to meet your lips, kissing his open palm, making your way up: wrist, forearm. At his inner elbow, you paused, exploring for a moment, waiting—when he shuddered, you latched on, painting another dark bruise onto his skin. “Three.”

He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“It’s warm out,” you said thoughtfully. “You’re going golfing with Mika and the guys tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yes…”

“They’ll see it. Mika will tease you about it.”

“I’ll tell them I ran into something.”

You glared at him, part of your persona for the night. “You won’t. You’ll tell them everything I did to you. Every last detail.”

“You want me to tell them—”

You slapped him across the face, hard, and he couldn’t hide his smile at _finally_ getting what he wanted. “I’m ordering you to tell them,” you said curtly. Then, tenderly, you caressed the same part of his face. “Oh, I’ve left a handprint,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Four.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“We’ll get to that.”

You made your way down his chest, leaving a bruise beside his surgical scar— _five—_ one below the sharp line of his right pectoral— _six—_ and then sank your teeth into the flesh at his hip, dragging them along his hip bone, and leaving one more— _seven—_ right there.

You pushed his legs apart, and gave him twin marks on his thighs— _eight, nine—_ then turned your focus to his dick, which was quite literally as hard as a rock when you wrapped your fingers around it. You took him into your mouth, getting his tip just past your teeth—but didn’t close your lips, didn’t let his dick touch your tongue, kept it away from your cheeks.

 _“Goddamnit,”_ he swore.

You hadn’t taken your rings off before getting in bed, which wasn’t an accident; in fact, you’d added one for the occasion. On your left hand, you had the two you always wore: a silver band with a Hemingway quote inscribed on the inner and outer band that Chris had given you for your anniversary, and the slender stacking rings you’d bought on vacation. On your right, you’d put on the marquis-cut birthstone you received for your birthday years ago. You spun it around, so that the stone faced inwards, and gripped his hips.

He cried out; the stone dug into his skin, and you couldn’t believe how much you enjoyed hearing him gasp as you finally closed your mouth around him and pressed the ring in even further.

His hands, helpless to do anything, opened and closed, grasping for something to hold onto but finding only air. “Fuck,” he repeated, over and over, as you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock and swirled it in that circular pattern he loved so much. Moans broke through his string of invectives as you took him deeper.

Then, abruptly, you pulled away. He instinctively arched toward you, trying to prolong contact for another precious second, and you pulled your hands away from his hips, inspecting.

“Mmm.” You could see the outline of every prong, even the facets of the gem. “Ten.”

_“Babe.”_

“Hmm?”

For once in his life, he was speechless. “I—” All he could do was shake his head.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to kill me tonight.”

“Nah, I’m not aiming for death.” You settled back between his legs and slid a finger into your mouth, coating it with saliva. “Just paralysis.” And you slid your finger inside of his ass.

The moan he let out was long, drawn-out, and needy; he knew—or at least he thought he knew—what came next. You bent low, as if you were about to take his cock in your mouth, but pressed your lips to the base instead, sucking it in until he squirmed beneath you. “Eleven.”

You gave him exactly what he wanted for the next few minutes: a finger curled inside of him, hitting his a-spot over and over; your throat opening wide to take his cock all the way down; and your other hand flat on his hip, holding him down as well as you could possibly manage.

He groaned when you gagged on him; he got off on the sound of you fighting to fit all of him down your throat, and it was even better with your finger in his ass. He sounded so good you were tempted to just finish him this way. You thought about finishing him, leaving him tied up, and coming back in a half an hour when you knew he’d be ready to go again. But you were too impatient.

Though you didn’t top often, you were an expert tease, and you knew just how to drive him absolutely mad—so you kept going, until his moans were shouts and you felt that spot inside begin to grow hard against the pad of your finger—and then you pulled out and away.

 _“Goddamnit,”_ he swore, “come back, I’m so close, come _back…_ ”

You grabbed his jaw. “Are you giving _me_ orders?”

Cowed, remembering his role, he shook his head.

“I’ll go back,” you said, an idea forming. “But you’re not allowed to come.”

His eyes grew wide.

You returned your finger to his ass and your mouth to his cock. You had no idea if he’d be able to control himself or not, and thought you’d deal with it on the fly if he actually did come.

You also had a secret weapon you were itching to use.

He made a grateful sound as the tip of his cock reached the back of your throat, and you saw that his eyelids had fallen shut. Strategically concealed underneath a pillow and sheet still at the foot of the bed was a riding crop, which you pulled out with your left hand while still fingering him with the right.

When you brought the cold leather down on his side, his eyes flew open with a start.

You met his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, just looked back at you, speechless again. You narrowed your eyes, and tore your mouth away from his cock to say, in a low voice, one word.

“Count.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Twelve,” he managed, and you hit him again. “Thirteen.” You trailed it down his side, and brought it down one more time. “Fourteen—”

You could tell his orgasm was near; you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

“Fifteen— _hey, no, hey—_ ”

You were out again, off again, a smirk on your face as you watched him writhe and struggle against the ropes that bound him to the bedposts and huff in frustration.

You eyed his wrists; they looked pretty red. For a moment, you imagined him explaining the rope burns on the fourth hole tomorrow, and it made you smile.

Crawling up the bed, you ran a finger softly over his wrist, right along the rope. “Sixteen,” you whispered.

“Rope burn?” His voice was nearly a squeak.

You nodded, tracing he other one. “Seventeen. And I’m not even done with you yet.” You paused and leaned close to him, pressing a soft kiss behind his ear as you pondered your next words. “You’d take anything from me, wouldn’t you?” you purred, running your fingers through his hair, punctuating your words with another kiss.

“Yes,” he said.

“Even something a little… nontraditional?”

“Anything you want to do to me. I’m yours.”

“So well-behaved,” you praised.

You reached for the bottle of lube on the table. First, you made sure his ass was prepared for what you were about to do to him. You put a thick layer on your fingers and eased two inside of him, stretching, playing, until he was moaning. Then you backed up to the edge of the bed and watched his face turn from satisfied to quizzical. Your mouth curved, your eyes locked to his, you opened the top of the bottle and coated your high heel with a thick layer.

His eyes grew wide.

“You’d take anything?” You set your heel, glistening with lube, against his ass. You were giving him one last chance—he had a safe word, and if you heard it, you’d stop.

Instead, he met your eyes with equal fire. “Anything.”

“So obedient,” you said, and slowly extended your leg, working your heel back and forth until it was past both little rings of muscle. He strained against the rope as the sole of your shoe pressed up against his balls, the heel fully inside of him, and you wondered how it felt inside of him.

“Does it hurt?” you asked.

“Does it matter?” he countered, a faint grin on his lips.

“Yes. I wouldn’t want to damage my favorite toy.”

“It hurts enough for me to love it,” he said, leaning back against the pillows.

With a smile, you grabbed his calves to steady yourself, making sure your ring pressed firmly into the muscle, and started fucking him with your heel, slowly, not wanting to go too overboard—you really didn’t want to hurt him, after all. He let out the most glorious moan as you began, and you realized how much he was enjoying this. It was hot as hell, and you were growing wetter by the second; you didn’t know how much more patience you had.

“If only I could reach you with my mouth,” you said, eyeing his dick; there was a bead of pre-cum on the tip just begging to be licked away. “Then again, it might be tempting to see if I can get you there just by doing this.” You slid all the way in for emphasis. “You like it in the ass so much that I think you just might be able to come this way.”

He whined in response, a desperate sound; you’d stopped your motion, and he bucked against you, trying to get you to move again. You laughed at his efforts, knowing full well how much of a tease this was.

“Tell me what you want,” you said to him.

He froze. “I want what you want,” he said, delivering the appropriate answer.

“Such a sweet boy.” You stroked his calf. “And if I were to be nice enough to give you a choice?”

“Fuck me,” he said. “I want you to keep fucking me.”

“Beg for it.”

His head rolled to the side and he sighed, squirming against you. “Please,” he began. “Please, _please_ fuck me.”

“With this?” You pressed your heel in further.

“God, yes. Please. I’ll do anything for you. Please.”

That was enough. You began your motion again, not too fast, not too hard, making sure you didn’t tear him apart; he cried out, an explosion of words and a long groan, and the pre-cum dripped down the side of his dick. You couldn’t take it any longer. “Eighteen,” you pronounced, as you removed your hand from his calf, gently stroking the place where your ring had embedded itself into his skin, and slipped your shoe from his ass.

He watched you intently as you tossed your shoes to the side, stood, and stripped for him, letting him feast his eyes as you slowly revealed every inch of skin.

You stood at the end of the bed, naked, staring him down. “Count,” you said, and crawled onto the bed, making your way up his body, leaving bruises as you went. _Nineteen,_ on his calf. _Twenty,_ behind his left knee. _Twenty-one,_ on the outside of his thigh. _Twenty-two,_ his stomach. You licked the length of his scar, which was sensitive, and he trembled beneath you; _twenty-three,_ his neck.

By the time you finally positioned yourself over him, you were dripping wet and he was a shaking mess.

The tip of his dick brushed against your wet folds, and he let out a little whine.

“Say please,” you instructed.

“God, _please,_ ” he said. “Please let me be inside you.”

You bent down, seizing his jaw in your hand. “How badly do you want it?”

“More than anything. This is all I want. Just you. Just you. Please…”

He was in pieces and you were living for it. Without responding, you lowered yourself onto him, and he let out a sound, half pleasure and half relief, and as you sat still on top of him, he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t help himself. He thrusted up into you, and you struck him across the face.

“Mmm,” was his response, relishing the sting, as you inspected his skin for red marks.

“Twenty-four,” you said.

“I love when you hurt me a little,” he said in a quiet voice, almost as if he was ashamed. “I kind of like when you hurt me a lot.”

“Hockey players are tough,” you said to him, rolling your hips thoughtfully, watching as his eyes went back in his head. “You can deal with a lot. I could test your limits.”

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the way your hips moved, the different ways your pussy tightened around him as you went from one angle to another. “You do anything to me you want.” You sat straight up, grinding on him, letting out a little strangled moan as you got him even deeper inside you; he sighed. “You’re so good,” he whispered, almost involuntarily. “You’re _so_ good.”

Ordinarily, you’d make him wait for at least ten minutes. You knew he was fairly close already, which meant you’d probably only come once; but it was _his_ birthday, after all. It wasn’t about you tonight.

Leaning forward, you grabbed the headboard for leverage. Your breasts brushed his face, and his cock twitched inside of you. “Yes,” he murmured against your skin, tilting his face up, pressing it between your breasts.

You flew back and slapped him again. “Twenty-fucking-five. You ask permission for every move you make.”

“Of course. I forgot. I’m sorry. Please forgive me…”

“Shut up and lay there while I use that dick to make myself come.”

He shivered; you knew he’d love that. You returned to sitting position and grabbed his hands, using them to steady yourself as you rocked back and forth on his dick. “God,” you whispered, feeling your orgasm building, the heat pooling between your legs. “Yes—yes—”

He watched you intently, watched your back arch and your eyes close, wishing his wrists were free so he could support you better. “Use me,” he whispered, barely audible. “Yes, oh, please…” Rapturously, he focused on your face, adjusted his hips to give you a better angle.

You fucked yourself on him faster, harder, until you screamed out and the black behind your eyes turned to static and you squirted all over him. His moan barely registered as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm and caught your breath.

“Thank you,” he managed, eyes going closed again, “thank you for making me useful to you…”

You dove at his neck, sucking at his skin so hard he cried out. “How many?” you demanded.

  
“Twenty— _oh—_ twenty-six,” he gasped as you slammed down onto him. You grabbed his hair, pulled his head to the side, and licked him from collarbone to earlobe. “Come for me,” you growled. “Fucking come for me.”

He was close, you knew it. His hands opened and closed, clawing at what bit of bedpost he could reach, desperately searching for something to hold on to. “God—yes— _ohhh,_ ” he groaned, as you tilted your hips again, searching for the perfect spot to push him over the edge.

You leaned forward again, not ceasing your motion, and nipped at his collarbone, kissed his neck, licked his jawline. “Come for me,” you repeated.

“Babe—I—”

“I gave you a fucking command and you’d better—”

And just like that, you felt him come, hot and shaking inside you, staccato moans breaking from his throat, pulling so hard at the ropes you thought he’d break the posts.

When you knew he was done, you eased up, but you didn’t climb off. Not yet. You did lean forward, though, to untie the knots and let him free.

He licked his lips, trying desperately to catch his breath, and rubbed at the raw marks on his wrists. “God, that was so good.”

You smiled down at him. “Oh, you thought I was _finished?_ That’s cute.” You pulled him forward by the hair, kissed him hard, and shoved him back down.

“Oh, _God,_ ” he cried, as you leisurely slid him in and out, using his own cum as lube; he was sensitive, and it was like an earthquake going through his veins every time you took him back inside and tightened your pussy around him. “Fuck—please—I can’t—take—I—”

“You can’t?” You smiled sweetly at him. “Really?”

He shook his head, still not using his safe word, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He was incredibly sensitive… but he wanted to push himself.

So you kept going, at a leisurely pace, your thrusts like calm waves on the ocean: gentle, slow, still just powerful enough. He cried out at every one, and you noticed he kept his hands above his head, fighting the urge to touch you.

But after a few minutes, he couldn’t take it any longer, and his palms found your thighs, and you immediately lifted yourself off of him.

The sound he made was somewhere between a protest and a sigh of relief.

“Turn over,” you told him.  
  


“What?”

“I’m on twenty-six, and in case you’ve forgotten, you just turned twenty-eight. I’ve got two left. Turn over.”

He obeyed, and you smiled to yourself as he buried his face in the pillow. You ran a hand appreciatively over his ass. You could touch him all night, but that wasn’t your mission tonight.

So you pushed his ass cheeks apart, and spat on his asshole. He jumped, and you could see the question on his face even with his face in the pillow. You extended your index finger and slid it inside of him.

He was sensitive, after all you’d done earlier, and the pillow muffled everything he was saying, but there was a long, drawn-out moan and something that sounded like _oh my God, yes,_ and you pushed further into him. It was a breeze to find his a-spot here and you went straight for it.

With your other hand, you reached for the riding crop.

When it hit his ass, he jumped, moaned, and turned his head. “Twenty-seven,” he choked out, and you grinned.

You took your time before the last one, pushing him to the brink, his hands nearly pulling apart a pillow in the process, but then finally you reached back and brought the crop down on his ass one more time. “Twenty-eight,” you provided, withdrew your finger, and bent to kiss the red mark before you allowed him to turn over.

When you laid down beside him, you were pleased; he was a flushed, shaking, sweaty mess, too exhausted and overwhelmed to do anything but allow you to wrap your arms around him and softly play with his hair while he caught his breath.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured in his ear.

“Mmm,” was all he could say, and you enjoyed the silence for a few moments longer until he could manage real words. “I can’t… holy shit. You’re a fucking goddess. What the hell.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a kiss, then brought him close again. “I’ve got some birthday cake for you.”

“You might need to bring it in here. I don’t think my legs are going to work for a while.”

Smiling, you kissed him on the temple. “Fair deal. I’ll be right back.”

You pulled a robe on and padded out to the kitchen, the image of his face still fresh in your mind. _Nailed it,_ you thought, pulling out the chocolate cake.


End file.
